Stranded with the Navy SEAL

by Susan Cliff

  Logan rejoined her, grinning his approval. “That’s a great find.”

  “You think it just washed up?”

  “Yeah. There’s a ton of trash in the ocean. I’m surprised there isn’t more here. We must not be near any major currents.”

  The beach gave way to a section of rock cliffs that resembled the other side of the island. The sand was wet and flat, as if the tide had just receded. They skirted around the cliffs to a secluded little cove, and found another pleasant surprise. Water rushed down a mossy rock wall and formed a shallow pool in the sand below. It wasn’t the waterfall he’d pointed out from the summit, but a smaller runoff.

  Logan ran toward it with an eager whoop. She followed at a slower pace. They stood ankle-deep in the pool of water. Behind the falls lay the mouth of a cave. Water rained over the entrance like an outdoor shower. He made a cup with his hands and filled it. She did the same. The water looked clear and felt wonderfully cool.

  He took an experimental sip. “It’s freshwater.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “I think so. There aren’t any large animals or humans here to contaminate the supply. Even if there were, the water is flowing through volcanic rock and moss, two natural filters. It’s about as safe as you can get.”

  That was good enough for her. She brought the water to her lips and drank. It tasted better than the water from the liana vines, which had a gritty, tree-bark flavor. The coconut juice was delicious, but she couldn’t drink it all day. It wasn’t what she wanted to quench her thirst. There was no substitute for freshwater. She could feel it hydrating her entire body. She drank as much as her stomach could hold.

  He set the bucket underneath the steady spray. While it filled with water, he ducked into the cave. She went with him. Unlike the bat cave, this one smelled clean. It was spacious, with a high ceiling. The sand beneath her feet was damp, indicating that the waves lapped inside the cavern at high tide.

  Logan pointed to sunlight on the opposite end of the tunnel. “I think this goes through to the other side of the island.”

  “Great. Let’s get out of here.”

  He laughed at her lack of enthusiasm, wiping the moisture from his face. Her dress was wet from the waterfall. So was his shirt. The fabric clung to the muscles in his chest and arms. “We can explore another day.”

  She turned around, relieved to leave the dark cavern. On her way out, she almost stepped on something that looked like striped rope. When it moved, she shrieked and jumped backward, into Logan’s arms. He carried her to the mouth of the cave. By the time he put her down, the snake had slithered out of sight.

  “What was that?” she asked, still trembling.

  “Sea krait.”

  “Are they poisonous?”

  “They’re venomous, yes, but they rarely bite. Next time you see one, don’t scream and jump around like that. You scared it away.”

  She couldn’t believe he was scolding her for letting a snake get away. She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to one side. Even from that angle, it didn’t make sense.

  “It’s a food source. We need protein.”

  She’d eaten some strange delicacies, and she wasn’t squeamish about trying another, but the thought of him messing around with a venomous snake sent her stress levels skyrocketing. “What we need is fire,” she said, her voice sharp. “Not you risking your life for a snake we can’t even cook!”

  He flinched as if she’d slapped him. “I’m working on that.”

  She nodded an acknowledgment, and he dropped the subject. She hadn’t meant to criticize his efforts; she just didn’t want him to kill any snakes. They were in enough danger without him taking unnecessary risks.

  He turned and picked up the bucket, hefting it onto his shoulder. Then he walked back in the direction they’d come. She followed him along the base of the cliffs and across the tide pools. The return trip took about ten minutes. She had to hurry to keep up with him, even though he was carrying an awkward weight.

  As soon as they arrived at the beach with the palm trees, he set down the bucket and covered it with a palm frond. Then he disappeared into the jungle for a few minutes. She stayed in the shade, nibbling her lower lip. She could sense his tension. Although she wanted to get along with him, she wasn’t interested in tiptoeing around his ego. She’d done that with Andrew, and he’d walked all over her. It occurred to her, in hindsight, that their relationship had never been equal. She’d been the sous chef at a restaurant his uncle owned. Andrew was the manager. When he left to participate in the reality show, Cady hadn’t been promoted. They’d hired another man to fill the position.

  She didn’t expect Logan to defer to her. He was the survival expert, and she was a civilian. He had nerves of steel, and she didn’t. She couldn’t match him in skill or daring, but she could be his partner.

  He brought a length of green vine back with him. He cut it into thirds and braided the strips to make one cord. Then he attached it to a bow-shaped stick.

  “Can I help?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, surprising her. “Come here and put your foot on the base.”

  She knelt where he indicated, with one foot planted on a wooden piece to hold it steady. It wasn’t a comfortable pose, and she felt self-conscious about his proximity. She didn’t complain, because she was trying to prove herself. He moved the bowstring back and forth in swift, practiced motions. She could tell the task required a lot of upper body strength. Logan was probably the fittest man she’d ever met, and he struggled with it.

  She struggled to keep her foot in place. Her calf muscle ached from holding the position. He was breathing hard, his biceps flexing. She worried his hands would slip and he’d stab her bare foot with the stick, or burn her with a hot coal.

  Then the cord snapped.

  And she was secretly glad, because she needed a break.

  Logan wasn’t glad. He leaped to his feet, cursing with frustration. She glanced at the horizon and noted it was almost sunset. There were no clouds in the sky, and no mosquitos. They wouldn’t die without fire, but she really wanted it. They had eggs and breadfruit to cook, and she was hungry.

  She stood and stretched, feeling low.

  “I need your straps,” he said suddenly.

  Her hand rose to the front of her dress. “My straps?”

  “The vine cordage isn’t going to work. I have some rope, but I left it with the raft, and I’ll have to hike back to get it. I don’t want to wait that long. It could rain anytime. We don’t have a shelter or another way to stay warm.”

  After a short pause, she nodded her agreement. They needed fire. This was important. If she had to sacrifice a piece of clothing, she would.

  She moved closer and turned her back to give him access to the straps. She felt the whisper of the blade as he sliced through the fabric. Then he came around to the front, his expression flat. He cut the straps with brisk efficiency. She clutched the bodice against her chest before it fell away.

  After he made a new bowstring, they resumed their efforts. It was difficult to keep her dress in place. The fabric inched down with every little motion. Whenever she let go, it started slipping again.

  “Hold still,” he said. “Focus on this.”

  She gritted her teeth and left her dress alone. He reminded her of her drill-sergeant grandfather, who’d died barking orders. She pushed aside that dark memory and concentrated on her foot placement. One of her breasts popped out, but she ignored it. So did Logan. He didn’t take his eyes off the tools in his hands. Sweat dotted his forehead.

  Finally—finally—the coal formed.

  Smoke rose up from the base where her foot was resting. He tossed aside the other tools and gestured for her to move. She did, gladly. He transferred the coal to something that looked like a bird nest. Then he cradled it in
his palms and blew gently.

  Flames erupted.

  She wanted to cheer, or weep, but she was afraid to jinx it. He looked tense, as if the job wasn’t done yet. He placed the bundle of fire in the pit, under a teepee of twigs. When those started burning, he added some sticks. Then branches.

  Before long, they had a real fire. He’d made fire.

  It was great timing, too. Dusk had fallen. The fire was a reason to celebrate, and far more of a relief than finding this beach, but they both stayed silent. There would be no kissing and rolling around in the sand tonight.

  He collapsed on his back, eyes closed tight. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. He was either emotional, or exhausted.

  Exhausted. He didn’t get emotional.

  She remembered that her breast was out, so she tucked it away. Then she stared at the fire and thought about dinner. She was ravenous, but campfire cooking wasn’t her forte. She hadn’t been camping since she was twelve. They had no pots, pans or utensils.

  “I need to boil water,” she said. “The breadfruit can be cooked over an open flame, but the eggs will explode.”

  “You can boil water in a coconut husk.”

  “How?”

  He stayed stretched out on the sand, unmoving. “Put a few small rocks in the fire, and some water in the husk. When the rocks get hot, I’ll transfer them.”

  There were a couple of golf ball–sized rocks in the fire ring already, so she tossed them on top of the flames. Filling the coconut husk was trickier. She nestled it in the sand and poured water from the bucket carefully. When that was done, she peeled the breadfruit and sliced it. It was difficult without a flat surface, but she managed. She put the slices in another empty husk. Boiling the breadfruit would taste better than charring it on a stick.

  He sat upright, groaning a little. She hoped he hadn’t reinjured himself with that marathon of physical exertion. She felt a surge of guilt over what she’d said earlier. He’d seemed insulted by her comment, and determined to make fire because of it.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “How’s your knee?”

  “It hurts.”

  She heard the strain in his voice, and saw it in the lines of his face. If he admitted to feeling pain, it must be agonizing. “I didn’t mean to criticize...about the fire.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “The thought of you picking up that snake really freaked me out.”

  “I wouldn’t pick it up. I’d just kill it.”

  She wasn’t comforted by the distinction. “I’m not brave, like you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m just an ordinary person.”

  “So am I.”

  “No, you’re not. An ordinary person doesn’t do combat and water rescue and snake handling.”

  “That’s training, not temperament.”

  “It’s both.”

  He raked the sand from his hair, shrugging.

  “I don’t have the temperament for this.”

  He made a scoffing sound. “Everyone gets scared in emergency situations.”

  “Yes, but some people can stay calm and take action. They’re the rescuers. Others are frozen with terror. I’m that second type.”

  “How do you figure?”

  She was reluctant to tell the story, but it was the best way to get her point across. “Remember how I said I went camping with my grandpa?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d go with him and my dad on fishing trips and stuff. I was an only child, and I think my dad wanted a boy.”

  “I know how that is. I’m an only child, too.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “My mom totally wanted a girl. She took me to all of her Charity League meetings and tea lunches.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Hell no. I was a rowdy kid. She made me wear bow ties. I couldn’t even sit still.”

  She smiled at the mental picture. He couldn’t sit still as an adult, either. “One year my dad got shot in the line of duty.”

  “By who?”

  “Some lowlife. Domestic violence call. Anyway, he fully recovered, but he couldn’t go anywhere that summer, so I went with my grandparents. It was an RV trip through the Sierra Nevada.”

  “Go on.”

  She forced herself to continue. “I was on a hike with my grandpa when we heard someone calling for help. A man had fallen over the edge of a steep cliff. The earth had eroded under his feet, I guess. He was hanging by a branch, but he couldn’t pull himself up. My grandpa yelled at me to stand clear. Then he dropped to his stomach to give the guy a hand.”

  Logan’s brow furrowed with concern. “What happened?”

  “They both fell. And died.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I didn’t move. I was paralyzed with fear.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twelve.”

  “You were a kid. You couldn’t have done anything.”

  “I mean that I didn’t move for hours. I couldn’t bring myself to look down the cliff. Someone came along and found me, and I couldn’t even talk.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “I didn’t help him.”

  “He’d have taken you down with him.”

  She wasn’t convinced of that, but she’d never know. She hugged her arms around herself, feeling numb.

  He poked at the fire with a stick. “Did anyone in your family blame you?”

  “No. My parents said they were glad I stood clear. But my cousin called me a coward at the funeral.”

  “Well, he was wrong. A coward wouldn’t have kicked the knife away to help me during that fight. A coward wouldn’t have gotten in the raft, or survived the open sea, or swam her heart out in the middle of the night. A coward wouldn’t have hiked through the jungle all day or slept in a bat-infested cave. You don’t have a cowardly bone in your body.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Then why am I so scared?”

  “Fear isn’t cowardice. I’m scared, too.”

  “You don’t show it.”

  He grunted an acknowledgment.

  “Is that Navy SEAL training?”

  “It’s man training. From birth.”

  She smiled at the joke, a little sadly. “If you kill a snake, I’m not cooking it.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, smiling back at her.

  She didn’t tell him that her biggest fear wasn’t snakes. It was being left alone here. She had no idea what she’d do without him. Temperament aside, she didn’t have the training to survive on her own.

  “I’m sorry about your grandpa.”

  She took a deep breath. “It was a long time ago.”

  “You’re doing great, Cady. We’re going to get through this. The most important aspect of survival isn’t training or temperament. It’s tenacity, remember?”

  She nodded, comforted by his words. When the rocks were ready, he moved them out of the fire with two sturdy sticks and dropped them into the water. She added the eggs, her stomach growling.

  “How long do you boil them?” he asked.

  “Only a few minutes. They’re small. The breadfruit will take longer.”

  “You’ll have to put more rocks in the fire. The water won’t stay hot.”

  She had to search the beach for a second set of rocks. By the time she returned, the eggs were done. They were about half the size of a chicken egg. She gave him two and kept one for herself.

  He popped the first egg into his mouth, shell and all, crunching with relish. She tested her own egg by biting it in half. The shell was thin and nutrient-rich. The egg inside was piping hot and soft. It tasted mild
ly fishy. It wasn’t yummy, but she’d take it.

  The hot-rock method wasn’t an efficient process for cooking breadfruit. She probably took it off the heat too early, because they were both tired of waiting. She’d never tried breadfruit before. It was kind of like zucchini, with a starchy, gummy texture. They both devoured their share because they were starving.

  It was the best meal they’d had yet. Her stomach had shrunk over the past few days, so a small amount was enough to satisfy her. It wasn’t enough for Logan. She could tell he was still hungry. He had one of those never-quit metabolisms, along with a never-quit attitude. He needed a ton of calories to maintain his body weight. Two little eggs didn’t put a dent in his protein requirement.

  She gave him another banana, figuring it was safe. Then she drank water from an empty coconut shell and watched the stars come out. There were more than she’d ever imagined, spread across a monstrous sky.

  “I didn’t get around to building a shelter,” he said. As if he’d been wasting time, lounging.

  “It’s okay.”

  He’d chopped down some palm fronds earlier, so he spread them out on the sand. She curled up on one side of the fire. He took the other. She was acutely aware of the distance between them. Their heads were almost touching, but nothing else. He didn’t hold her close the way he had last night. Although the fire was warm, she preferred his arms.

  “Tomorrow will be better,” he said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Today was a better day than yesterday, and yesterday was better than the day before. We have fire and an excellent water source. Right now we’re just surviving, but we can thrive here. We can have good days.”

  She liked his optimism, but she didn’t care about thriving so much as being rescued as soon as possible. Because every day they spent together she felt closer to him—and more afraid of losing him.

  Chapter 9

  Logan woke with the sun.

  He’d dreamed that he was back in Telskuf, searching for Hud. He didn’t know why he was searching. The explosion had left nothing but burning piles of rubble and a huge crater. There was no possibility of survival. No remains to find.